


The Case of the Servant in the Well

by RobinLo



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 1897, Case Fic, Gen, murder case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:26:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLo/pseuds/RobinLo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘You have been sealed in your room for nigh on a week. You needed to go outside and relax.’<br/>‘It is not relaxation I require, it is a case!’ the detective remarked. ‘Besides, I fail to see the recreational value of feeding ducks.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Servant in the Well

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a school project (you know you're good when you manage to convince your teacher to let you write fanfiction for school). My teacher unknowingly acted as beta so there shouldn't be any major mistakes. If there are, please inform me and I'll be indebted to you for eternity. Enjoy.
> 
> **********

Despite my friend’s outstanding intellect and unquestionable brilliance concerning all subjects of criminal nature he was never particularly attentive when it came to matters of his own physical health. His adventures kept him fit, but as often as not he completely forgot to eat; especially when on a case. Between cases he would frequently slip into long periods of brooding, sometimes not exiting his chambers for days on end, refusing human contact and food.

Shortly after moving into Baker Street I took it upon me as a personal duty to make sure of his well-being. Acting as his personal physician I made sure to keep an eye on his nutritional consumption; ensuring that he at the very least received the bare minimum to keep him in health.

It was as a result of my care for him that I found myself sitting on a bench beside a pond in the park with my dear friend and colleague a forenoon in early June in 1897.

‘Is this really necessary?’ Holmes asked sourly as he observed the ducks with little to no interest.

‘Absolutely,’ I responded as I could see that the fresh air was doing him good even if he himself did not seem to appreciate it. ‘You have been sealed in your room for nigh on a week. You needed to go outside and relax.’

‘It is not relaxation I require, it is a case!’ the detective remarked. ‘Besides, I fail to see the recreational value of feeding ducks.’

‘But there has been no shortage of cases the past weeks. I know this for a fact since just the other day I was compelled to read the telegram from Mr Hardwick out loud when you refused to open your door and read it for yourself.’

‘You should know by now, dear Watson, that I do not take plebeian cases. My intellectual resources would be wasted on the disappearance of Mr Hardwick’s prize dog.’

Before I had a chance to reply Holmes had risen from the bench and begun to walk back towards the park gates, and in the general direction of our home at Baker Street. 

‘Come now, Watson! All this air calls for an early lunch.’

***

Upon our return to our lodgings we were met at the door by our housekeeper, Mrs Hudson, who informed us that two gentlemen was waiting in our quarters, one of whom was Inspector Gregson. This triggered an almost instinctive response from Holmes, who lit up like a candle and flung himself up the stairs in a sudden fit of energy.

‘It is so nice to see Mr Holmes up and about again, don’t you agree Doctor?’ Mrs Hudson said, watching fondly as Holmes disappeared from view.

‘It certainly is. Let us hope that the good inspector is here to present him with a case to keep him occupied for a while,’ I answered her.

As I ascended the stairs and entered our shared chambers I was greeted by our old acquaintance Inspector Gregson of the Yard. He was standing beside the sofa, in which a dark haired young man dressed in impeccable clothing was seated.

‘Ah, allow me to present my trusted colleague Doctor Watson,’ Holmes said. ‘Watson, this is Mr Arthur Crieff; our client.’

Mr Crieff stood up at the introduction and took my hand in a firm grip.

‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘Now, if you would be so kind, pray enlighten us. What is your errand with me Mr Crieff?’

The man looked back at my friend as he returned to his seat and said; ‘Well, the situation is quite simple. I would like to ask for your assistance in clearing up the circumstances around the death of my employee, Ms Sarah Smith. She was found dead in an unused well on my estate early this morning.’

‘And I assume you suspect that she was murdered, am I correct?’

‘Yes, I am certain of it Mr Holmes.’

‘May I ask why you are so sure that it was no accident? That the unfortunate girl did not simply trip and fall down the well?’

‘The lid was replaced over her.’

Holmes smiled coolly and responded; ‘Ah, yes. That rather gives it away, does it not? Inspector, I presume you have been to the crime scene yourself?’

‘Naturally,’ answered Inspector Gregson, ‘Or I wouldn’t have recommended that we went to you for assistance. But as it were, I did. So, Mr Holmes, will you follow us to Mr Crieff’s estate to investigate further? I believe that your help could be of some value.’

‘Well yes, of course it will,’ Holmes said smartly and turned around to take his seat in his usual armchair. ‘Very well. We shall come around sometime after lunch, if you would leave the address with Mrs Hudson on your way out. Fare well.’ And with that he picked up a newspaper from the nearby table and diverted all his attention to it, leaving me to see the gentlemen out. When I returned he stood by the window with his back turned to me.

‘Why, Holmes,’ I said, rather incredulously as his calm demeanour corresponded poorly with his previous exuberant excitement with the prospect of a new case. ‘I must say that I rather expected you to insist on going directly to Mr Crieff’s estate without bothering with lunch. I’m pleasantly surprised!’

‘Never let it be said that I disregard doctoral advice concerning my health,’ my friend said, a sly smile on his lips.

‘I should say that it is quite possibly what you are best at, other than detective work,’ I chided the man who had been locked in his room with virtually no nourishment for almost a week.

‘Then we shall be lucky that I have my dear friend to remind me every now and then, shan’t we?’

***

As our coach drove up to the Crieff Mansion, a beautiful building dated late seventeenth century, we were met by an officer who showed us to the well which was located in a remote and seldom visited part of the large garden. I noted that the tall hedges that surrounded it sheltered it from view quite well, and that it certainly would have been impossible to spot anyone in the business of committing mischief if one stood any farther than twenty yards from the well. As we approached the scene of the crime I could sense my friend growing increasingly excited. I was glad of the fact that not only did Holmes now have a case to keep his spirits up, but in solving it he was exposed to some sunlight and fresh air. I could see that this would do him much good.

‘Mr Holmes, I presume?’ a young officer, whom I did not recognise, said. He scowled as his offered handshake was ignored by Holmes, whose attention was focused on the gravel surrounding the well.

‘Dr Watson,’ I introduced myself and shook his hand instead of the consulting detective, trying to appease the indignant chap, ‘friend and colleague of Mr Holmes.’

‘Pleasure.’

As I turned my attention back to Holmes I found that he was currently lifting the lid of the well that had, until recently, been leaning on the well’s side. It seemed quite light as he could lift it with one hand only.

‘Shameful business, officer,’ he said as he put it back to its resting place. ‘You do understand the importance of leaving the crime scene as uncontaminated as possible, do you not?’

‘Whatever do you mean, sir?’

‘Footprints, my good man. Footprints! You lot have trampled the gravel into an unreadable mess, it is really most unprofessional. I must say that I expected more from Inspector Gregson, he always was one of the sharpest of the Yard.’

‘Now look here,’ the officer began, ‘the gravel was thoroughly inspected upon our arrival, before anyone was allowed to tread on it. There were no marks on it besides those of the gardener who found the unfortunate girl and fished her out of the well.’

‘None at all?’

‘None I tell you.’

‘Well, that is interesting,’ my friend mumbled to himself, turning away from the upset officer in favour of peering down the old stone well. The side of the well, which had no winch and seemed to be missing a number of stones, reached slightly above his hip. As I stepped forward to take a look for myself I could see that the water level was about ten yards below our feet.

‘Well, Watson. There is one thing we can be sure of.’

‘What is that?’

‘Our victim was either dead or unconscious as she hit the water.’

‘However can you tell?’ I marvelled. My friend had yet to see the body, so his conclusion of her physical state during the fall was surprising.

‘Surely it is blatantly obvious?’

‘Not to me, Holmes. What gives it away?’

‘The steps inside the well. As you can see there are several ladder steps in the wall of the well, rusty, but fully serviceable. No doubt the gardener used them as he retrieved the body from the water. Had the girl been conscious she would surely have climbed up the steps; they would be easy to find even in the dark. The lid has no bolts to keep it in place, and it is very light. It would have presented no troubles had she tried to push it up from beneath.’

‘Then it might have been a case of the murderer wanting to get rid of the body, rather than drowning her?’ I asked.

‘We will have to inspect the body to find out.’

As we turned away from the well we saw Inspector Gregson approaching us with a burly man on his tail.

‘Ah, Holmes,’ Gregson said as he came near. ‘Let me introduce to you the man who found the body. Mr Burdge, the gardener. Mr Burdge, meet Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson. They are invited to assist in the case. Pray, tell them your side of the story.’

‘Pleased to meet you, sir. And you, sir. Well, there’s not much to it really. I was on my way to trim the hedge this morning when I-‘

‘The hedge over yonder?’ Holmes asked and pointed to a long and tall hedge some hundred yards away, blocking the view of the house.

‘Yes, it has grown a bit out of control of late, and as I said I was just about to trim it when I noticed something awry about the well. The lid seemed to have shifted, and a stone from the top had fallen out of the mortar. I’ve been meaning to repair the old well for quite some time; the mortar is, as you can see, crumbling in several places. As it were, I went up to the well and took the lid off so I could replace the stone for the time being until I could get me some proper tools to start the renovation. As I tried to put the stone back I accidentally dropped it into the well, and the sound of it hitting the water seemed a little less splashy than I would have expected it to. I looked down and saw something in the water. When I climbed down to investigate I discovered, to my horror, that it was poor Sarah. I picked her up from the water and checked if she was breathing, but, alas, I was too late. I then immediately alerted the household, and later the police arrived.’

‘Did you notice any footprints on the path or in the grass anywhere in the vicinity of the well?’ Holmes queried.

‘No, there didn’t seem to have been anyone but me here since the path was last raked.’

‘And what tools did you bring to maintain the hedge?’

‘I don’t understand, how is that-‘ the gardener began, confused.

‘Just answer the question, sir,’ said Gregson.

‘Well, a stepladder to reach, a pair of shears to cut, a rake to gather the fallen waste and a wheelbarrow to transport it all in afterwards. But-‘

‘The girl was murdered sometime yesterday, am I correct Inspector?’

‘Yes, that is correct,’ Gregson answered.

‘Mr Burdge, what were you doing yesterday?’

‘Oh, a number of things, but I spent most of the fore- and afternoon in the far end of the orchard, pruning the last of the apple trees.’

‘Thank you, sir. You have been most helpful. You may be on your way,’ Holmes said, dismissing Mr Burdge with a nonchalant wave of his hand. The man looked quite discombobulated, but did as he was told and wandered off in the direction of the orchard.

‘Well,’ Gregson huffed, ‘I must be off. Paperwork to fill out, subordinates to yell at. You know what it’s like. Can’t afford to stand around chatting all day. Do feel free to ask young Dimmock here if you need any assistance.’ And with those words he took off in the same direction from which we had gotten to the crime scene.

Holmes turned to the young officer and inquired about the where the body was stored, receiving the answer that she had not yet been moved to the morgue, but was situated in the ice-room of the mansion.

‘If you would be so kind as to lead us there?’ Holmes asked and gave Sergeant Dimmock one of his rare polite smiles.

***

On our way to the cellar of the grand mansion we happened upon Mr Crieff sitting in an armchair having afternoon tea with a beauteous woman of similar age to his own. They both stood as they spotted us and Mr Crieff introduced the comely lady as his wife, Beatrice Crieff.

‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ my colleague said as he addressed her in the polite, yet completely disinterested, manner he so often applied to women. ‘We were just on our way to inspect the body of your unfortunate servant,’ he continued as he turned his fleeting attention to our client once more.

‘Why, then I shall join you,’ Mr Crieff said and gave dismissal to the police man who had served as our guide through the building. ‘Beatrice, dearest. Would you mind me leaving you to finish your tea on your own while I lead these gentlemen to the cellars?’

‘No,’ she answered. ‘I shall join you. I would much like to see dear Sarah again one last time before the good officers take her away.’

Since Mrs Crieff immediately took lead towards the cellar stairs we had no time to protest against the inappropriateness of a young lady such as herself having to look upon so grim a scene as a drowned corpse.

***

It was not a pretty sight that met me as I peeled the white sheet off the deceased young woman who lay on a table in the temporary morgue. The body was swollen from the time spent in the water, and the skin of her face and hands was scratched on several places. Most prominent was the wound above her right eye, a shallow cut which, while certainly nasty, would not have been enough to cause neither death nor unconsciousness.

‘Your verdict, Doctor?’ my colleague asked and stepped up to the table.

‘The cause of death is most certainly drowning; there is no doubt about it. The gash on her forehead would have caused vertigo and momentary confusion, but not unconsciousness. Upon closer inspection of the texture of the wound we can tell that it was caused not by a manual blow to the head, but rather a scrape from a rough surface of some kind. It is my guess that she contracted most of her wounds in the fall into the well, rather than in a struggle with her assailant.’

As Holmes bent closer to the body to be able to pay closer attention to her clothes I caught a quick glimpse of the fond smile he sometimes displayed when he deemed my deductions worthy of attention. Despite the coolness of the room a warm feeling of pride spread through my chest at the thought of my colleague’s well concealed affection.

‘What a horrible fate for one so young, so vibrant with life,’ I heard Mr Crieff say, and when I turned to him I could see tears in his eyes. He had his wife clutched tightly to his side, and she looked at the body with dry eyes but an expression of deep sorrow etched onto her face. As I felt I was intruding on a strangely intimate moment I turned back to the table where Holmes was in the process of examining the victim’s shoes with his magnifying glass. His face was contorted in a scowl; my friend was obviously unpleased by what he saw.

‘It is of little use, the water has eradicated almost every potential clue as to her untimely death. There is not much to be read from her body,’ he said, irritated.

‘Has her family been informed of her death?’ I asked the red eyed Mr Crieff.

‘She had no family.’

‘A husband, then?’ I had seen no ring on her finger, but it was possible that she removed it so as not to lose it or damage it while working.

‘She was unmarried, why do you ask?’

‘But then whose child was it?’ I queried, bewildered. My examination of the body had within seconds told me of the now dead child resting inside the belly of the poor woman.

My question was not met by the reaction I expected. Mr Crieff stared at me dumbly and his wife looked dead pale as she spoke; ‘Sarah was with child?’

‘Why, yes. I assumed you knew. You seem to have been quite familiar with her.’

The news of Ms Smith’s pregnancy sent both of the Crieff’s into tears, and they excused themselves before leaving the room in a hurry.

‘Go after them,’ Holmes said quickly, and I obeyed without questioning.

I found the couple in each other’s arms in the room where we first had happened upon them. They had ceased crying, but both looked thoroughly miserable.

‘I do beg your pardon if I have hurt you in any way,’ I began, but was stopped as Mr Crieff rose from the settee and shook his head.

‘No, no. All is well,’ he said gravely, not convincing me in the least.

‘I can see that there are a number of matters that need to be discussed between us, Mr Crieff.’ I was surprised by Holmes’ voice as I had not heard the man come up behind me. ‘Is there a place where we can have this conversation in private?’

Mr Crieff looked as if he very much would like to avoid said conversation at all costs, but he nodded at last and said; ‘Yes, my study. Let me-‘ but he was interrupted by a woman’s voice who called from the other side of the room.

‘Arthur! Why have you not introduced me to your guests?’

As we turned to the source of the voice we spotted a woman, she was old, though surprisingly vigorous in appearance.

‘Mother, what are you doing out of your room without supervision? Where is Ms Farnham?’ Mr Crieff said.

‘The new girl? I sent her to do some chore so I could get a minute to myself. She really is worthless. She tried to serve me tea with sugar just this morning.’

‘What about Ms Hooper? Her shift is about to start, is it not? You know you mustn’t be alone.’

‘Never liked her, she smiles too much and insists on trying to be witty. Terrible horsewoman, I wouldn’t trust her around my darlings any longer than a minute. Where was I? Yes, I gave Ms Hooper the rest of the week off. She was quite upset by Ms Smith’s departure, as were we all, bless her memory, and Ms Hooper was resigning anyway.’ She turned away from her son to face me and my friend. ‘Well, Arthur. Won’t you introduce us?’

‘Certainly, mother. This is Mr Holmes, the private detective-’

‘Consulting detective,’ Holmes said as he took the elderly Mrs Crieff’s hand.

‘- and Dr Watson, his colleague. They are here to help in the investigation of Sa- Ms Smith’s murder’ Mr Crieff finished.

‘Murder!’ his mother ejaculated. ‘So you are sure about it then?’

‘Quite positive I’m afraid, Mrs Crieff’ Holmes answered.

Mrs Crieff turned to her son once again and said, with a glance to my colleague; ‘Not that I do not wish to see the perpetrator caught and put under lock and key, I do appreciate the effort the good officers have put into the case and their promise of keeping this strictly between our family and the force, but is it really necessary to involve civilians? You know how scandalous it would be were this to become known to the public. What if the papers got wind of our little situation? Why, our reputation would be ruined!’

‘I assure you that I represent the very essence of discretion, Mrs Crieff,’ my friend answered the lady with a thin smile. ‘I shall not spread the story, if you wish it to remain private. Now, Mr Crieff, we were just about to go to your study, were we not?’ Holmes was clearly irritated by the intermission.

‘Oh, yes, certainly. Let me just fetch one of the household staff to escort my mother back to her room. You see, she suffers from a rather severe illness and mustn’t be left alone,’ Mr Crieff said, and his mother exclaimed; ‘Arthur! Do not tell them that!’

Sensing my friend’s impatience I stepped forward and laid a calming hand on the enraged Mrs Crieff’s shoulder. ‘If I may be of assistance,’ I said, ‘I could accompany your charming mother to her room and join you afterwards. I am sure my colleague can manage without me for a while.’ 

***

As it turned out, a little while was a considerably longer time than I had in my mind. Mrs Crieff insisted that I stayed for a cup of afternoon tea before returning to my duties, superficial though they were as I had already fulfilled my responsibilities. I felt I had done everything that could be done in my field of expertise to help the investigation along. The continuing resolution of this case would benefit little from any further services I had to offer. As a result I spent a lovely half hour with the charming lady.

We discussed a number of things, but mainly the sad demise of Ms Smith, whom, I learned, worked in shifts with another servant as Mrs Crieff’s personal assistant. Being assured by my Hippocratic oath that I would not spread rumours about her (‘Imagine the gossip!’) she confided in me that the reason behind her need of a supervisor was that she suffered from epilepsy, something no one but the house doctor, her family, and their most trusted servants had any knowledge of. She was not to be left alone for an extended period of time, and Ms Smith had been her favourite assistant.

In Mrs Crieff’s own words; ‘At least the girl could make a decent cup of tea.’

The remark had been passed as her new assistant, who would be replacing the resigning Ms Hooper, poured me a cup of perfectly fine tea. I felt sorry for the new girl that Mrs Crieff let the pain from the loss of Ms Smith affect her relationship with her new assistant in such a negative way. It was obvious that the deceased woman had meant a lot to all members of the Crieff family, and that she was more than just any servant to them.

We drank our tea in companionable silence for some while, making a remark now and then about this and that, before the maid came back to take away our cups. The girl clearly felt uneasy in the company of her mistress, so to divert Mrs Crieff’s attention from the unfortunate assistant I decided to change the subject.

‘I perceive you ride. Have you a great interest in horses?’ I asked her, indicating to the pair of riding breeches I saw slung over a chair at the far end of the room.

‘What? Oh, dear. I do apologise. Farnham!’ she shouted at the servant girl, who was just about to leave the room with the tea tray. ‘Why have you not put away my riding breeches for cleaning? I told you yesterday! Surely not even you can fail to understand such a simple command?’

The girl swiftly put down her tray at a nearby table and hurried across the room to collect the breeches, draping them over her arm before retrieving the tray and exiting the room.

‘Oh, my. How embarrassing. Is it too much to ask that your servant keep your room tidy? I think not. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. I do ride rather frequently, though always in company of an assistant, as you can imagine it would be rather unpleasant having a fit when no one is around to calm the horse and help me. Dear Sarah was an excellent horsewoman, unfortunately the same cannot be said about Ms Hooper, nor the new girl. I really must make sure she learns to ride as riding is a great hobby of mine; I’ve been at it for as long as I can remember. You see, my father used to keep quite the number of horses back in his days at the estate. I am sad to say that our stables are rather emptier these days. My late husband did not particularly appreciate the fine art of horsemanship and were not overly fond of the animals themselves either. It was a shame to let them go, but he would not pay for more than three stable lads and as such we could not keep more than a few. Are you a riding man yourself?’

‘Ah. No, madam. I fear that there is not much time, nor opportunity to pursue that kind of hobby in the city, though I did have a go at it in my youth. I’m sad to say that I did not have much skill for it.’

‘Pity, horses are such magnificent creatures, don’t you think?’

My answer was interrupted as the young maid knocked on the door and entered the room once again, the riding breeches still hanging from her arm.

‘Mr Sherlock Holmes is here to see you ma’am. Shall I show him in?’

‘Why, yes. Of course.’

Before the girl had time to turn back to the corridor my colleague pressed past her through the doorway and nodded to us in greeting.

‘Mrs Crieff. Watson.’ He looked annoyed for some reason.

‘Mr Holmes! how lovely. Have you come to join us? I can get the maid to go fetch us some more tea if you would like,’ Mrs Crieff said.

‘No,’ my friend responded, stepping further into the room and turning his back on us as he took in his surroundings, paying close attention to a bookshelf, ‘I’m afraid that I must steal away my colleague.’ He peered through the door to Mrs Crieff’s bedroom which stood ajar. ‘We have overextended our visit already; I would not wish to impose on your hospitality any further. I have already called for a cab to take us back to the city.’ He finally turned to face us again.

‘But Holmes, I thought we were going to interview the servants,’ I said, surprised at his change of heart.

‘That will not be necessary. The case is quite clear to me now, I require only some time to mull the details over before I will be definitely certain, and that I might as well do at home. Thank you, Mrs Crieff, for entertaining my colleague while I interviewed your son and daughter-in-law on my own. Now we really must take our leave. Good-by Mrs Crieff.’

I took my farewells of the dear old lady and followed Holmes out into the corridor.

‘You seem to be in a somewhat foul mood, my friend,’ I said as we made our way towards the grand hallway.

‘As would you, friend, had you been deserted by your colleague and trapped in a room with two sobbing interviewees, one of whom was an adult man, for the better part of an hour. Never put me in such an unpleasant position again, I pray thee.’

***

Holmes was still in an irritable mood when we arrived back at Baker Street, and he made for the stairs at once when we entered the flat, not bothering to say hello to Mrs Hudson who greeted us.

‘Shall I prepare some tea and biscuits for you, dear?’ she asked me as I wiped my shoes.

‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I had some just now and I doubt Holmes is in the mood for nutriments at the moment. Let’s wait for dinner, shall we?’ I answered her, but was immediately interrupted by Holmes’ voice calling from upstairs.

‘Mrs Hudson! Tea if you wouldn’t mind!’

‘Ah, never mind. I see I misjudged the situation. If you would be so kind?’ I corrected myself and watched Mrs Hudson as she made her way to the kitchen before leaving the hallway myself to join Holmes in our quarters.

Upon entering our consulting room I found not the brooding and sour man I had expected, but an apparently pleased and content Holmes, sitting in his favourite armchair with a lit pipe in his hand.

‘Well,’ he said as he saw me, ‘That was a jolly pleasant little case, was it not? A tad too simple for my taste, of course, but all in all a nice interruption of the monotony unemployment presents.’ 

‘You mean to say that you have solved it already?’ I exclaimed.

‘Surely it is quite obvious even to your average mind? I am surprised Inspector Gregson faced such difficulties with this case. Have you really no suspect in mind?’

I sat down in the chair opposite my friend and tried to recall any vital clues I could have missed. I could tell Holmes was eagerly awaiting my deductions, and so I voiced my thoughts; ‘Well, the girl was found after having been in the water for at least twenty hours, judging by the condition of her skin. We know that the cause of death was drowning, and therefore we know that the incident must have taken place at early forenoon or midday yesterday. So, the assailant must have been known to the staff to be able to pass over the grounds without anyone taking notice. The well stands in a secluded location, yes, but if Ms Smith was indeed a planned target as it seems, and not just the incidental victim of, say, a burglar caught in the act, daylight robbery being uncommon, the culprit must have known that she would be at the well, a place she had no reason to be, and it is therefore more likely that the culprit was someone she knew and trusted and followed to the well acting in free will.’

‘Very good, my reasoning exactly. Pray, continue.’

‘The culprit removed the lid, and somehow managed to throw the girl in the well, then replaced the lid and left. But! there were no footprints around the well, so they must have been removed somehow.’ An idea suddenly occurred to me. ‘Removed by the use of a rake, in fact. As the culprit must have been strong enough to lift the girl over the edge of the well and throw her in we’re most likely looking for a man. A man with a rake.’ Looking at Holmes’ smirk I could tell that he knew exactly who I was talking about.

‘The gardener,’ he said.

‘The gardener! He would certainly have been strong enough to lift a struggling woman over the edge, and then used the rake to dispose of the incriminating footprints. No one would question the normality of a gardener raking a path. He then waited ‘til morning before pretending to discover the body, planning to rely on his acting skills to help him appear like a shocked and mourning friend to divert suspicions.’

‘Brilliant, Watson! I can see you have thought of everything. Well done!’ Holmes congratulated me, and I basked in the glory of having been able to follow my gifted friend’s deductions for once.

‘There is just a small detail you have overlooked. Well, I say small. Well, I say one…’ he remarked, and I furrowed my brow.

‘What did I miss?’

‘Only the motive, the modus operandi and the identity of the culprit. Oh, and the fact that Mr Burdge was not trimming the hedge on the day of the crime, but the next day. Nothing big.’

I was baffled. ‘How can it be? It all makes perfect sense!’

‘If you choose to look at it from your perspective, certainly. But you have chosen to ignore several important details so as to make your solution more credible. For example, you said it yourself; the girl was not knocked unconscious before being thrown into the well. Had the gardener simply replaced the lid she would have been able to use the steps to climb to the top and pushed the lid off from beneath. The lid was certainly light enough. No, the gardener would have had to hold the lid in place somehow until the girl became so tired that she could no longer hold onto the steps or keep afloat, thus drowning. That, however would take hours, if not days, and there was certainly no time for that. No, the girl was, as previously stated, conscious at the impact with the water, having suffered only minor wounds by colliding with the wall on her way down, but the culprit must have been sure that she would drown within a very short space of time. She was sedated, Watson.’

‘Sedated!? But how-‘

‘I shall get to that soon. So, there we have the modus operandi, let us then take a look at the motive. Tell me, why would the gardener have committed the crime?’

‘Well,’ I said, now beginning to doubt my own theory, ‘He could have been angered by an insult or a refusal of a proposal.’

‘Guesses, Watson. Guesses! One cannot rely on guesses in a case like this, if any. It is of the highest import that every deduction you make is supported by a sound observation. There is simply no room for guesses in this game. No. The gardener lacks motive as far as we know, but I have some detail unknown to you which provides another individual with a perfectly valid motive, and further inquiries led to the discovery of the precise details of our modus operandi.’

‘Pray tell me.’

‘After your exposure of the pregnancy of Ms Smith you must have noticed Mr Crieff and his wife’s reactions of the news. I found them most interesting, and as you deserted us to go and have tea with dear old Mrs Crieff I had a talk with them both. That talk proved incredibly informative, and they revealed to me, after some persuasion, that the child belonged to none other than Mr Arthur Crieff himself.’

‘It was Mr Crieff’s child?!’ I exclaimed. ‘But he seemed so devoted to his wife, Beatrice!’

‘Ah, I can see what you are presuming now, but it was not a case of infidelity. Now, this is what they told me as I insisted on hearing the full story; Sarah Smith was a childhood friend and distant relation of Mrs Beatrice Crieff. They stayed in close contact as time progressed, and when she married Mr Arthur Crieff, Beatrice arranged for the unmarried and unemployed Ms Smith to come and work in the household. The young lady soon became much beloved by all family members and staff, and when Beatrice was discovered to be infertile Sarah offered to bear the child if they wished. Beatrice desperately wanted children, and seeing as she and Ms Smith were distantly related she felt that it would assure that she at least had some blood relation with the child. Mr Crieff was, after some persuasion, convinced to follow the plan; impregnate Ms Smith, let her bear and give birth to the child, and let the outside world believe that the child was Beatrice’s own and therefore a rightful heir to the estate. As you remember, the couple had not yet been informed of the pregnancy, my guess is that Ms Smith felt the need to be completely certain that all was well and that the chances of miscarriage were small before announcing it to them.

‘Now we come to the interesting part; the murder. Imagine the scandal if the public got wind of the fact that the Crieff heir was in fact a bastard child of Mr Crieff and the maid. The social circle in which the Crieffs move would not look kindly upon such an arrangement, especially if they thought the child was the result of an affair and not an agreement by all parties. Can you think of someone who above all else values the family reputation, who would rather dispose of the evidence of a seemingly scandalous affair than see the family name dirtied? “…what if the papers got wind of our little situation? Why, our reputation would be ruined!” she said, if you remember?’

Realisation dawned upon me when I heard my friend quote the lovely Mrs Crieff’s remark about the police investigation.

‘You are suggesting that Mrs Crieff did the deed! But surely not, Holmes! You cannot mean to say that the charming little lady could commit such a horrid crime. I simply cannot believe it.’

‘That is exactly what I am saying, my dear Watson! You have a terrible habit of underestimating the callousness of the female mind.’

Unwilling to accept my friend’s preposterous theory I asked; ‘But how would she have done it? Mrs Crieff is certainly not strong enough to throw a grown and struggling woman into a well! And you have still not explained how it comes that Ms Smith was unable to climb out of the well.’

‘But she did not need to throw her, she only had to push.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘The riding breeches, Watson! You must have noticed them as the maid removed them from the room, if not sooner. I questioned the maid about them and she revealed that her mistress was indeed in the habit of taking regular rides around the property, and as you yourself told me on our way back here she was in need of constant supervision due to her medical condition. The maid told me that she was employed only last week as a replacement for the resigning Ms Hooper and therefore had not yet learnt to ride.

‘Now, Watson, this tells us several important things. The riding breeches were recently used, I could spot several hairs on them from the horses.’

‘Used yesterday, in fact,’ I added. ‘Mrs Crieff was complaining that Ms Farnham had not taken them away for cleaning yesterday as she had requested.’

‘Very good. And as Mrs Crieff mentioned earlier Ms Hooper was not trusted around the horses, and Ms Farnham did not know how to ride, thus leaving none but Ms Smith available to ride with her. You saw the body, Ms Smith was wearing a dress, and must therefore have been riding side-saddle, making it quite simple for Mrs Crieff to situate her between herself and the well and simply push her off the horse and into the well, having removed the lid sometime during the night before in all probability. But that is not all there is to it! To ensure that the girl would drown quickly she needed to be unconscious. Luckily for Mrs Crieff she had access to a certain drug which I discovered on a night table just inside the door to her bedroom when I came to collect you, having already formed my suspicions against Mrs Crieff. It is called paraldehyde, a quite recently introduced anticonvulsant, used by epileptics, which, incidentally, is also highly sedative. It would have been a child’s play to bring a syringe of the stuff and quickly drive it into the leg of Ms Smith, the left leg actually, before taking advantage of the shock of the unexpected action and pushing her off the horse and into the well before dismounting and replacing the lid, keeping it firmly in place until the sedative took effect.’

I sat in stunned silence for some time and processed the facts that my friend and colleague had laid out in the open. Everything fell neatly into place as soon as I managed to get my head around the idea of Mrs Crieff being able to commit such a terrible deed. When I had finally accepted the theory as the truth I still had a few questions left for the consulting detective.

‘How do you know so much about paraldehyde? I cannot recall hearing about this specific drug before.’

‘It must have been some years ago by now. I was quite frightfully bored and picked up one of your medical papers which mentioned a study about the drug and its effects, it having been introduced into clinical practise in this country only some thirteen years ago. I found the information worth remembering, but you did not, as it seems. Honestly, Watson, I cannot fathom why you insist on keeping reading all those medical papers when you evidently cannot be bothered to remember what you have read.’

Choosing to ignore the insult I asked; ‘How did you know it was the left leg, then?’

‘Ah. When riding side-saddle it is most common to have your legs slung to the left side of the horse. Thus, it would have been most logical to make sure that you had your victim on your right-hand side so as to more easily be able to shift her balance and prevent the possibility of her landing with her feet on the edge of the well. In this position the left thigh of the victim would be the body part most easily accessible. Furthermore, when we inspected the body I noticed a slight fraying of the dress-skirt over the left thigh of Ms Smith. As you left the room to follow the upset couple I took my chance to lift the skirt and inspect the skin beneath. I found a small rash and the mark of a needle, thus giving me the first clue as to the method used in performing the deed.’

‘You lifted her skirt?!’ I bellowed in indignation.

‘Yes, I had a feeling you would not approve.’

‘You are damned right I don’t approve! This is outrageous!’

‘Which is why I sent you out to deal with the crying Crieffs so that you would not interfere.’ He held up a hand as I reddened and stopped me from speaking my mind about the violation of the poor girl’s body. He rinsed the ashes from his pipe and began to stuff it anew with tobacco from his Persian slipper as he spoke; ‘Now, Watson. It really is futile to argue about this. What is done is done, and by doing it I solved the case considerably faster than I would have done otherwise. Let us put this behind us. What do you say you write a telegram to the Yard, informing them of the essential details so that they can perform at least some part of their duty and arrest the culprit? It looks like the papers will have their share of a Crieff scandal after all.’


End file.
